THE MADNESS LOCKER

by EDDIE RUSSELL

  She turned the corner. The houses were not nearly as damaged as in the other areas that she had walked through. She looked up the numbers, then started to walk down the street, every so often looking up at a building. There were only a few people about, and no children. Quiet. She suddenly recalled angry voices and a struggle, followed by car doors opening and closing, trucks rumbling and the clanging of metal. Pounding on house doors, and being cold, almost shivering, and then warm and then cold again. She hastened her pace. The fragments were coalescing into place, guided by an invisible hand on a puzzle. What happened on that morning? Was it morning? No. She remembered dark. But if it was dark, why was she carried out in the open?

  She halted in her tracks as if stuck by a bayonet. Carried. She was carried, but from where, to where, and why? Who was carrying her? Helmut and Heinrich? Voices. Quiet, but muttering with an urgent undertone. She was cold and then warm. Was that because she was taken out of and then put back into bed? Bitter. Swallowing something bitterly unpleasant. Then becoming sleepy, almost unconscious. Was she drugged and carried, and if so, why?

  She needed answers to help her put the fragments together. Otherwise they were just bits floating disjointedly on the surface.

  She halted in front of the Lipschutz house, then walked up the steps to the front door. It was barricaded, with an official notice affixed to the door. It was more of a decree, advising that the house had been commandeered by the SS with the date and time stamped below, and the commander’s signature and insignia.

  There was no point in knocking on this door. She walked back down to the street and approached her aunt’s door. One of the windows to the left was shattered and had been boarded up with cardboard and newspaper. She knocked. No sound of approaching steps. She knocked more vigorously. Silence, other than the street noises behind her.

  She was at a dead end. She roamed the street for a while, hoping to recognise something, anyone, anything, not sure of what her next step should be. She had no plan beyond coming here and finding out what happened to her. Having exhausted her only leads she was left rudderless, like the others drifting the streets in search of the pieces to rebuild their shattered lives.

  “Now what?” she kept muttering to herself.

  Dusk was beginning to settle on the torn city and she would need to leave and find a place for the night. She had started to walk away from her aunt’s house when she noticed a slender, austere-looking woman with a supercilious manner and grey hair peeking from beneath her headscarf approaching on her side of the street carrying a bag. She watched her walk past, giving Helga no mind, and climb up the steps to Aunt Magda’s house.

  Aunt Magda?

  “Excuse me.”

  Startled, the woman turned slowly to face her, annoyed by the distraction.

  “You may be able to help me.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t have any food or money. There is a shelter around the next corner.” With that she turned and continued up the steps.

  “Pardon me. I didn’t mean like that.”

  The woman stopped again and set her bag down, studying her interlocutor more carefully.

  “I am Helga Dreschler.”

  The woman nearly fell back, seizing the banister at the last moment to steady herself. “Helga?!” Her voice quivered with surprise and excitement.

  Helga kept staring at her aunt disbelievingly, relieved that at last she had found a home. She belonged somewhere.

  Magda set her bag down. “What happened to you? If you hadn’t told me who you were I wouldn’t have guessed. Where is Wolfgang?” Her tone was warm and friendly, but her reserve held her back from hugging her niece.

  “I haven’t seen Wolfgang since he dropped me off at the train station in Munich.”

  “You mean since he picked you up to take you back to Munich?”

  “No. He never took me back to Munich. I haven’t seen either Wolfgang or Munich since Oma sent me here to live with you.”

  This was distressing news to Magda’s ears. Helmut had lied. But she wasn’t going to reveal her dismay to Helga until she had spoken with him and determined why he had done so.

  She regained some of her composure. “Anyway, I am glad that you are well and have come back from Munich.” Glossing over the fact that Helga had just told her that she had not been back to Munich. If she was curious about where her niece had been, she chose to keep that door firmly shut rather than peek behind it.

  Helga decided to strike back and slash any veil of etiquette. “I wasn’t in Munich. I was in a concentration camp.”

  Fortunately Magda had not surrendered her grip on the banister. Had she done so, this revelation would have caused her to lose her balance and tumble down the steps. She instinctively tightened her grip and let her features betray her shock. So many questions crowded her mind at once that she couldn’t even begin to articulate one.

  They stood there in silence, staring at each other, engulfed by the single thought that a terrible miscarriage of justice had transpired, and from Magda’s perspective only one person remained alive who could explain it: her husband.

  She regained her balance, nodded quietly to her niece, picked up the bag and set about unlocking the front door. She stood aside to let her niece in and, once inside, pushed the door closed. She bade Helga to follow her to the kitchen so that she could unpack the meagre groceries. She placed each item carefully in its designated cupboard, folded the bag away and, with a trembling hand, picked up the kettle, filled it up with water and set it to boil on the stove.

  Helga, not knowing whether she was meant to stand or invite herself to sit at the small dining table, decided not to trespass too eagerly on her aunt’s hospitality, and remained standing.

  “I will prepare some hot drinks for us. I am afraid there is no coffee anywhere to be found. Oh, that I wish Herr Lipschutz was back. He always had everything that I liked.” Magda turned away from the counter, seeing Helga standing obediently by the table.

  Magda pointed her to a chair, poured two cups of hot tea, added a plate with two slices of buttered bread and joined Helga. She shrugged unapologetically at the modest repast. “There isn’t much around at the moment.”

  Helga picked up a slice of bread and eagerly drank the hot tea. She was hungry, made more so by being in a home that was meant to be her own.

  Magda refrained from opening the topic that she knew Helga was eager to bring up. For Magda it breached conventions. There were topics that one just didn’t converse openly about. It was the painful intimacy that made her uncomfortable. Like when her closest friend told her in confidence that her husband had lost his virility: a war injury, a grenade. It crossed the boundary from juicy gossip to intimate detail, giving Magda a window into their private lives she would have rather remained shut. She would have been satisfied to just be told that he was experiencing some difficulty in bed. That couched the impotence in a clean, soluble dose of conversation. Magda couldn’t mentally digest the picture of the man with his penis flaccid or even deformed.

  A girl she had never set eyes on had appeared on her doorstep at the tender age of twelve with a worn suitcase, a note and some money. But the dire consequences of World War I had placed burdens on distant relatives who had fared better. Magda accepted that responsibility grudgingly even though technically she was not the girl’s aunt but her mother’s cousin. In six years Helga would be gone and so would the money for her upkeep. But then unexpectedly, Helga’s Uncle Wolfgang fetched her back. Biologically he had a stronger claim on Helga, and besides, it was secretly a small relief to discharge that responsibility early, what with all the accruing hardships.

  It was strange, though, that Wolfgang never asked for the upkeep money that Helga’s grandmother allocated to be sent back. Magda didn’t imagine him to be a man of means. Then again, he was another conundrum; Magda knew of him, but not him.

  So she asked Helmut to place the funds in a savings account for Helga in the anticipation that Wolfgang - or even Helga herself, whe
n she came of age - would come asking for it. A princely sum it wasn’t, but it was enough to get Helga on her way, an orphan without access to any other means.

  Now it turned out that Helmut had lied. What else did he lie about? Helga’s money? Did he lie about that too? He had told Magda that it was in an account under her name.

  Added to the tremors shaking Magda’s fragile world, the erstwhile girl, once plump, with a cheeky smile and a mischievous disposition, was sitting in front of her a ravaged woman with sunken cheeks, haunted eyes, unkempt hair and bundled in a Russian greatcoat, telling her that she had been in a concentration camp. It was another window that Magda wanted to keep firmly shut and bolted. It would have sufficed had Helga told her that she didn’t spend the war years in Munich, and now that the dreadful war was over, she had returned to her surrogate home.

  Where she had been was of no consequence just now. Ironically, given Helmut’s prevarication, Helga now had a stronger claim to staying in this household than when she first crossed the threshold with a note, some money and a prayer. They had a moral responsibility considering the tragic fate that had befallen her. She was placed in their care, they were given the money to support her, and somehow they failed abysmally in that responsibility and she ended up in a concentration camp. While at the same time, a girl that Magda had no moral responsibility towards, Ruth Lipschutz, spent the better part of the war years cooped up in their attic, sharing their meagre supplies, placing them at great risk and finally, to remove that guillotine hanging over their heads, was escorted to Switzerland at a mitigated risk to Magda’s brother, Martin. What a cruel twist of fate.

  Helga stared at Magda as she processed all this quietly in her head, nibbling on the bread, sipping the tea, and avoiding her gaze.

  “Don’t you want to know what happened to me?” Helga prodded in a firm tone.

  Shaken out of her thoughts, Magda picked up the empty plate to make some more buttered slices.

  “Aunt Magda, I asked you a question.”

  Magda mulled the question for a moment, then replied, “Helga, you may not believe this, but I don’t know how that happened, other than through some terrible misunderstanding.”

  That coward Klaus called Helga’s rape a mistake; now this one was calling her deliverance to hell a misunderstanding. “No! I don’t believe it was a misunderstanding. I believe it was deliberate.”

  “Deliberate? I am sure it wasn’t deliberate. Who would do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know who or why, but I do know that I ended up in a boxcar, transported over three awful days without eating or drinking, then shovelled out like garbage at Auschwitz, a death camp. I watched and experienced horrors that I will never forget. So, no, it was not a misunderstanding.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Helga. I don’t know what you want me to say. I always believed that you were back in Munich with Wolfgang.”

  “Really? Did you ever bother to check?”

  “No. No. I must admit that I failed in that. But you must remember that the only link to your family was your grandmother. I never had any contact with you, your mother or Wolfgang. So once you left, and with your Oma dead, that connection was broken.”

  Silence returned to the room. Magda removed the loaf from the cabinet in which it was stored, cut two more slices, buttered them evenly, and returned the plate to the table.

  “Did you want some more tea?”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to what happened to me?”

  “You just told me.”

  “No. I mean at the camp. On the train with the Lipschutzes.”

  Magda staggered, grabbed hold of the back of the chair and toppled into it. Helga leaped up and took hold of her aunt, helping her straighten out in the chair. Magda was mouthing words and pointing to the sink. Helga, confident that she was propped up in the seat, walked over to the sink, filled up a glass of water and held it to her aunt’s mouth.

  Magda thanked her by merely nodding her head. Her face was ashen. She tried to reach for the remaining water that was resting on the table, but her hand was trembling too violently to be able to firmly grasp it. She dropped her hands into her lap in resignation, shaking her head in disbelief. It was all starting to make sense, even if she didn’t know all the machinations behind the scenes.

  The sound of the front door interrupted the mood of gloom in the kitchen. It was Helmut, with Anna in tow. They both appeared in the kitchen doorway, Helmut smiling cheerfully and holding Anna’s hand, when he stopped abruptly in his tracks, alarmed.

  “What happened to my wife? Who are you?” Staring aghast, first at Magda and then at Helga.

  “Helmut, Liebchen,” Magda attempted weakly without looking in his direction, “this is Helga.”

  It was Helmut’s turn to be stunned. He studied Helga’s face closely but couldn’t find the girl he knew in the features that he saw.

  Anna stepped forward. “Helga, are you back from Munich? Will you be staying for good?”

  “No, and I don’t think so.” Helga stared coldly at Helmut, whose expression remained frozen in a mixture of disbelief and dread.

  “Anna, why don’t you go upstairs and let your father and me talk with Helga?” Magda turned to her daughter.

  “Yes, Anna. Please let us have a word with Helga in private.”

  “No, Anna, please stay. There is nothing private or confidential in what we are going to talk about, is there, Herr Professor?” Helga glared disdainfully at Helmut.

  Anna looked from one parent to the other and, seeing as neither objected, took a seat at the table. There was one left. Helmut, forced by the circumstances, slumped into it and sat staring down at the surface of the table.

  “So, here we all are. No point in wasting time with small talk, is there, Professor? Why don’t we get right down to how I ended up in a boxcar with Alana and Heinrich Lipschutz and then got stuck with their daughter’s ID as an inmate in Auschwitz?”

  The stinging salvo from Helga was met with a gasp from Anna, then followed with deathly silence.

  “Well, as no one is volunteering any ideas, why don’t I start by repeating what Magda told me? She says that you told her that I was fetched by my Uncle Wolfgang and taken back to Munich.” Helga stopped and glowered directly at the professor. “But that can’t be true because Auschwitz doesn’t look like Munich.” Magda hadn’t actually said that, but Helga surmised it from her insinuation.

  It was a shot in the dark, but had clearly hit its target. Helmut turned shamefacedly red, and looked over at Magda, who averted her eyes and didn’t bother correcting Helga.

  He was left hanging alone by his own lie. Clearing his throat, he looked both at Magda and at Helga. “That, regrettably, was not the case.”

  “You know, these euphemisms are beginning to tire me. A German soldier raped me and called that a mistake; Magda, upon hearing what really happened to me, called it a misunderstanding; and now you, Herr Professor, are wrapping it all up in a neat bow and calling it regrettable. The tragic truth is that I can’t change what happened to me, but I would at least like to know why it happened.” She once again gazed sternly at the professor.

  Silence.

  “Papa?” Anna looked over at her father.

  Instinctively Helmut reached across the table and attempted to place his hand over Helga’s. But she drew it back as if stung. Nobody spoke.

  Helmut rose up and poured himself a cup of the now-tepid water from the kettle, mixed in some tea and sat back down again. In a low, laboured voice, he began to unburden himself. “Well, what happened was that the Lipschutzes received word that they were due to be deported. Heinrich came over and asked if we could look after Ruth at least until they were resettled. I agreed.”

  Everyone remained silent, letting Helmut continue uninterrupted.

  “About a week later, while it was still dark outside, there was a knock on the back door. Heinrich was standing there with Ruth. She had a small case with her belongings. I led them upsta
irs and we settled her in the attic.” Helmut sighed deeply before continuing. “When we came down, you were standing there.” He paused to look at Helga. “You pointed at Heinrich and me and said you would tell the Gestapo where Ruth was hidden. The rest I am certain you can work out.”

  “Actually, I can’t. If Ruth was sleeping comfortably in the attic, who were the Gestapo supposed to take in her stead?”

  “I am not sure about that detail, but I presume that Heinrich had a story worked out.”

  “I am sure that he did not. Either way I have some experience with the SS and Gestapo. Trust me, they would not have believed him. But let’s leave that minor detail aside for the moment. Please go on.”

  “Both of us panicked. There was not a moment to lose. The Gestapo and SS were rounding up people around the corner and were already knocking on doors in our street. Heinrich immediately climbed back up to the attic to take Ruth back. But you said that you would tell anyway.” Helmut stopped, shrugging helplessly, the choice inevitable.

  Helga remained steadfast in her gaze, but her mind was preoccupied with the memories rushing back. The fragments were coagulating like magnets forced together: the struggle, the bitter potion to knock her out, the rush through the street. Feeling cold, then warm, then cold again. Being cradled in someone’s lap, dozing off to the movement of the truck. Waking up groggy in the train station.

  “I have heard enough. I can’t think of how to describe your actions other than disgraceful and cowardly. You chose a grocer’s daughter over me, your relative.”

  “I don’t think that we made that choice, Helga; you gave us no choice. It wasn’t just the Lipschutzes that you condemned to death, but also us, your relations, for helping them. If I had not acted to save my family, you would be the only one sitting at this table today.”

  Silence hung over the room as each one considered the choice and the consequences. Finally Helga spoke up.

  “I can in some perverted way understand you doing what you did, Helmut. But I can’t believe that Ruth never stepped up to save me. I could have died so many times in her stead. I don’t say that the fate that I endured was just for anyone. But it wasn’t my fate.”